Twelve-hundred miles later, you reach the majestic peaks and it hits you: unless serious attention is given to staying on the road rather than staring at scenery, you'll never make it to Missoula.
For a Mississippi River Rat accustomed to catfish and cornfields, Montana is another planet. Yet here I am, replacing a true professional in former Missoulian columnist Rial Cummings and dodging smoldering forest fires on a semi-daily basis.
I've learned outstanding athletes and coaches are pretty much like the rest of us. Only I drive a 1998 Ford Taurus and Barry Bonds drives, well, I'm sure it's not a 1998 Taurus.
I try to impress on my children that standout athletes are simply human beings blessed with a gift and an understanding of the importance of hard work. It sounds basic enough, but try telling that to the worshipping hordes that scratch and claw for autographs.
I consider it my job to bring out some of the human aspects in those I write about. If rabid Grizzly fans are the only ones reading my columns on Montana football in the fall, I've failed. I want kids and grandparents and my brother in-law back in Britt, Iowa, to read.
Folks ask me what's the most important story I've ever written. They figure it must be something involving the Iowa Hawkeyes or Illinois' Bruce Weber or perhaps a Green Bay Packers game. At the very least it must be an inspirational piece about a state champion somewhere.
Truth is, the most important story was about a high school basketball coach dying of cancer while his freshman son lived out the nightmare on center stage as the top player on his father's team. I did my best to put into words what everyone was feeling in a caring, compassionate community, and ended up getting trumped in the end by the boy I was writing about.
Colby Steele's thoughts on his father in a memorial service at the local high school gym live on as my favorite quote in 22 years of sports writing. They also say something about the value I place on athletics and fatherhood.
“I stand before you the luckiest of them all, because I knew Tim Steele as a father. A father I laughed with and played with in the good times, a father who showed me unconditional love in the bad times.
“He told me every night when he tucked me in that he loved me, and that I was his hero. He gave me his life to live by. That will always shine through, even on the darkest nights. So dad, before I tuck you in, I love you and you are my hero.”
You don't have to be a dad to appreciate that sentiment.
The hardest part about moving to Montana, at least for me, was telling my parents and siblings. Their faith in me serves as extra motivation.
Other folks from Iowa tell me a 43-year-old sports writer is supposed to stick with what he knows - a comfort zone in on the fast track to early retirement. I say phooey.
If the Zadick brothers (Lou and Ed) can mosey across Montana and make it big as college wrestlers at Iowa, maybe this old scribe can score a takedown or two at his typewriter coming from Iowa to Montana.
If I ever start to wonder what the heck I'm doing here, I'll just drive past Washington-Grizzly Stadium. Even when it's dead quiet there, the goose bumps still come up.
Columnist Bill Speltz may be reached at 523-5255 or by e-mail at bill.speltz@lee.net.
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